


Food of Love

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gender Identity, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Prouvaire prepares for an evening with his two most cherished individuals, and reflects on his relationship with each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiroshimalovers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiroshimalovers/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy (and that you're in the mood for Italian-inspired cuisine). Enjoy!

Jehan made a face as he tasted the purée he'd been working on. 

Still not right.

He put it aside, along with the five previous batches and sighed. Ravioli shouldn't be that hard to master, should it? Even if he was making three different kinds. Feuilly would probably say that he was overcomplicating, but to Jehan the variety was vital. Plus, he’d never hear the end of it from Bahorel, who would probably pick up on the underlying symbolism of everything and tease him mercilessly if anything detracted from the artistic whole.

This would be their first Valentines Day since becoming a Thing of sorts and, romantic Romantic at heart that he was, Jehan had taken it upon himself to arrange the evening. It meant, however, that it was up to him to make everything perfect and he meant for every element to be as eclectic, diverse, and yet cohesive as they’d proven to be. 

The flowers were potted varieties rather than bouquets: sustainable, beautiful, and would last far longer than any cut flowers he could purchase from a store. The dozen varieties had been chosen for availability and meaning, and had been arranged as aesthetically as he could manage over the living and dining areas of his apartment. He was especially proud of the table’s centrepiece, a pot of red, pink, and yellow tulips that signified a mix of trinity, conflicting yet linked love-filled emotions, and organic growth. 

The overall layout of flowerpots, interdispursed with homemade decorations and things that reminded him greatly of Feuilly and Bahorel made the apartment seem smaller. It was chaotic and cluttered, but still felt like home in a way that only organized chaos ever could. It was atypical perhaps, but in his eyes, it was perfect.

If only he could say the same for the food.

The fare, a trio of ravioli each prepared in its own matched sauce, was meant to represent each of them in turn: spicy meat ravioli in a spicier meat sauce for Bahorel, representing his boldness and slight tendency towards carnivorism; herb and mushroom ravioli tossed with garden vegetables to represent Feuilly’s colourfulness and richness in simplicity; and a chocolate ravioli in a raspberry compote to represent his own out-of-the-box, and (dare he call it sweet?) complexity. Together, they made a trio: all different, yet all composed together; unified in form, and yet completely unique, just like them in their hard-to-classify relationship.

The chocolate ravioli actually had turned out quite decently the first time, which had surprised Jehan a bit. Being the most unorthodox, he had expected it to cause the most problems, but the filling had been little more than a mix of cheese and sugars, and the pasta dough only really required substituting some of the flour for cocoa. Really, it had been deceptively simple, which he supposed spoke a bit to the metaphorical alignment he had placed upon it: he knew himself best of anyone after all. But the other two were taking their time to perfect.

With Bahorel’s, it was mainly a problem of finding the right balance. He knew, after all, that the meat and sausage needed to be browned, the vegetables needed to be softened, and the cheeses, herbs, and spices needed to be added in the right amounts so that everything was harmonious. He also knew that the spice needed to add a strong enough kick to be impressive but still serve to enhance, not detract or overpower, the overall flavour. This had taken trial, error, and testing, adding a little of this and a little of that until the filling had tasted perfect. And really, such was getting to know himself with Bahorel.

Bahorel was one of the first people Jehan had met after starting university. They’d literally run into each other, Jehan almost bouncing off of the taller, more built man. Bahorel had dusted him off and made sure he was okay, and somehow this had turned into banter, references, and puns being fired back and forth. Before he knew it, Jehan was being given an impromptu tour of the entire university area, eventually culminating in a meal at a quiet but delicious restaurant located a five minute walk off-campus. And really, that had been that. 

He had known from the beginning just how warm and welcoming Bahorel could be, and even how brash and bold he could be. Not just anyone would could befriend someone that easily, let alone invite a person they’d just met to a full day of adventure around a university campus, after all. Still, discovering just how wonderful Bahorel could be had taken a bit more time.

Bahorel asked Jehan something relating to gender about a month into their instant friendship. He’d been careful in how he’d brought it up, and very understanding about it afterwards, which had been a wonderful thing for someone who had been trying to decide where on the spectrum he felt most comfortable (or if such a place even existed). It was Bahorel who had encouraged him throughout his journey of self-expression. Bahorel could always be counted on for giving honest opinions when asked, and to not be too judgemental when a less heavy hand was needed, even without losing his ever-present brashness.

It was also Bahorel who offered to come to his aid when the first round of teasing hit; when people didn’t like the length of his hair or the poetry he read, recited, and scrawled, or even the fact that he expressed himself effeminately at all.

“It’s not that you can’t fight your own battles,” he’d said, “but sometimes it’s good stress relief, and if I can get that thrill and get a few much-needed lessons into their heads at the same time, all the better, huh?”

The two had become a near-unstoppable force after that, and all the closer for it.

They also shared a love of the grotesque and outlandish, of trying odd things, and were the best partners for watching horrible movies together. There wasn’t an adventure that one could want to go on that the other wasn’t game for, and the two were perfect together in all the bold moments in life. Yes, with Bahorel, there were always new adventures to be found, and new things to learn, but the man himself was pretty straight-forward, and what you saw was largely what you got.

Feuilly, however, had started out as an enigma. Feuilly, who had always known that he was a boy, but had never had the time, money, or resources to even consider transitioning, and had found himself a comfortable home in androgyny. Feuilly, who Jehan had admired from afar for months before getting an opportunity to talk with him, because Feuilly had been working a full course load, two part-time jobs, and a half-dozen extracurricular programs and volunteer positions. Feuilly, who seemed so passionate whenever he spoke in their Alternative Voices in Literature class, and who sometimes drew on his arms. Feuilly, who had taken a very long time to open up to him at all, and longer still to Bahorel.

He’d known Feuilly for over a year before he could really call Feuilly a friend; the boy was honest but guarded, seemingly wanting to hold the world close but be entirely self-reliant. Maybe it was because he’d been through a difficult childhood, moving from family to family every few years and watching the politics of case working from the inside. Maybe it was simply that he thought that the world didn’t need his problems added to its already heavy weight, and that he was capable of dealing with his own lot in life. Maybe he was just shy. No matter what it was, however, Feuilly had been hard to get to know, even if the person inside, the sometimes vulnerable, artistic, creative, and kind to a fault individual was beautiful and well worth the wait.

Still, it took a lot to know what went into Feuilly. Even now, it seemed like every day brought Jehan one discovery closer to understanding Feuilly at his core. Finding the right blend for vegetables, herbs, and cheese to capture his essence was equally difficult, and he ended up making nearly a dozen test batches before finding one that gave the right savoury-salty-umami blend with just a hint of sweetness. Was it worth the wait and effort? Entirely. And perhaps, even in the effort and care, the end result was all the better.

Looking at the clock as he finished, he barely had an hour to put the sauces together and lay everything out before his friends and partners were set to arrive. But that would be enough time, he thought, and from there he should be able to express his feelings, through food, flowers, and atmosphere, and just how much these people meant to him on this day as much as any.


End file.
